Suffer Me
by miss skinny love
Summary: Lily's afraid, and Pet is there to comfort her. And then later she's there — again — to condemn her. Funny, isn't it? Except it's not. It's nowhere near funny, for all that she can't stop laughing hysterically. Lily always did smile when she wanted to cry.


_suffer me_

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gift!fic for Fruits, from the Pound forum :3

(I swear I meant to stick to the 500 word limit. Sorry?)

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She's lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The fan creates _duhhk-duhhk-duuhk_ noises as it rotates, buffeting Lily's face. She's still — so still — with her hands clasped on her stomach, her eyes open, staring at that rotating fan and simply feeling that refreshing wave of air being blown onto her face.

It's nighttime, and the wind is howling something fierce. Her sheets are comfortable. But she's not. She's not comfortable, or calm. She feels alone, for all that her sister is sleeping in the bed over.

"Pet?" she says in a small voice, unsure if her sister is even awake.

"Hmm."

"Pet?"

Her sister grumbles but then seems to come awake a bit more. "What?" she hisses.

"Do you think I'm going to Hell?" Her lips barely move. It's like the words ghost out, like they come from deep inside of her heart and crawl up her oesophagus until finally — finally — they spill into the world.

Her sister is definitely awake now. "Why are you asking that?"

Lily gnaws on her lip. She's still staring at the fan. "Well … I don't go to church every Sunday … I'm jealous of Mindy's new bike … I'm sometimes rude to Mom and Dad … "

Her sister shifts. She's speaking to the wall on her side of the room, but the words are meant for Lily. "Lils, I don't think God would send a little girl to Hell. You're only ten. Besides, there are awful people in the world. You're not bad." Her sister's sheets crinkle, and Lily absently pictures Pet shrugging. "Stop stressing."

"Okay," Lily says, and her sister goes back to sleep, but Lily stays awake, staring at the fan and listening to its _duhhk-duhhk-duuhk_ noises. She's not at all comforted. Little children could still do bad things … little children could go to Hell … and grown people … well … there was something inexplicably sad about a father punishing a child for all eternity, no matter that the child was grown up. She's stiff with fear. She keeps picturing fire.

She wishes her hair was a boring brown instead of red.

(Little children grow up.)

Yes, her sheets are comfortable. But she's not. And her sister slumbers on.

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So time goes by. Lily's a witch and Pet's normal. Pet has boring brown hair and Lily's is red, and _Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live._ The idea of God and Hell and Heaven is shoved into a corner of her mind until it ceases to exist. Her God becomes a childhood belief, like Santa. She moves on. And then war breaks out and James is her husband and there's a child brewing in her belly, like the ultimate potion, and she smiles at the thought and then frowns because Sev would have given her the tiniest, most crooked grin for that joke, but he's not her friend anymore. She's short on friends.

She's short on family.

She's not sure why she goes. She's not sure what exactly draws her back to Pet. The night is bitingly cold. Her knuckles on the door are achingly loud.

Her sister opens the door, a polite smile on her face. And then those eyes go dark. It's strange, Lily thinks, to see how dark those eyes go at the sight of her. It's strange to see that smile drop away, and the shoulders tense, and the lips sneer and the hands fist.

"What?" Pet snaps.

"Pet — "

"Petunia," she corrects.

"What?" Lily hesitates.

"My name is Petunia, _Lily,_ not Pet."

Lily's face goes red. "No, you're Pet."

So does her sister's. "What are you doing here?" Petunia asks eventually, sniffing and turning her nose up as if she scents shit.

"I wanted to talk to you."

Those thin lips, already sneering, hike up further, artfully displaying contempt and a strange, bitter rage. "What? That freak life of yours not turning out so well?"

"My life is fine, thanks. I married James." Lily's words are short and clipped, and she stamps her feet because it's chilly, but still her sister does not invite her inside.

"Of course you married another freak. That's two freaks." Those dark eyes glint. "Two freaks in _paradise,_ hm?"

Lily's jaw is clenched so tightly that a muscle jumps. "I'm pregnant," she blurts out, because this is her sister, and a war has broken out, and she's short on friends and on family, and all she needs is the Pet from her childhood — that sweet girl that comforted Lily in the middle of the night, when everything was dark.

It's dark now.

"Ah," her sister says. Something in her body language shifts — the slightest bit — and maybe those eyes change but then it's like Lily's delusional, because the sneer is still there and the door is still acting as a half-barrier. "My mistake. _Three_ freaks."

Lily's whole face is on fire. On fire like her hair. _Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live._ "Why do you have to be such a bitch all the time?" she bursts out. "My sister the Muggle, jealous of her _freakish_ younger sister!"

Petunia's eyes go black and she tosses her head. "Go to Hell, Mrs Potter," she says coldly, and slams the door shut.

 _Go to Hell,_ Lily thinks, and she gives an odd, hiccuping laugh because her sister had once said that God didn't send little girls to Hell. Well, Lily's all grown up now, isn't she? She's all grown up, and she's not _bad,_ she's _awful._

Besides, she doesn't need the God from her childhood. She has Petunia now. Petunia who condemns her to Hell.

She feels so sick, so sick, and she presses a hand to her stomach, trying to calm that brewing potion. But it's not enough, and she roars the word _fuck_ because she has a temper and she's all alone. There's no-one here to comfort her in the dark.

There's nothing to make this better. Lily sinks her fingers into her hair and presses at her skull. She's just a young, knocked-up woman with dead parents and a sister that wanted nothing to do with her. Sev isn't her friend anymore and James only looks to the light instead of acknowledging the dark. She just … she misses Pet … She swipes the moisture from her eyes and leaves. There will be no resolution, no improvement. Nothing will change.

Isn't it strange to have Pet's comforting words from the past twist into mocking condemnation? Fuck.

 _(Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.)_

Panic claws at her. How can she live like this?

But the answer is so clear, isn't it?

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And maybe Pet cries, too, but _Petunia_ straightens and smiles and goes to kiss her husband on the cheek and offer him coffee. And life coldly trundles on.

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Until it doesn't.

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Until Lily's cremated. Fire licks at her body, and at her husband's, too. And Pet … Pet dies when she finds that out. The fire kills her, too.

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By God, what a cold world it is.


End file.
